


Ademains a la Prochaine

by Anonymous



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29951130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What the hell are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to come until next week.”Runner flung his arms around Lucky in turn and murmured into his curls, “Your ma said you were having a rough go of it, so I decided I’d better make the trip early.”“You gotta stop talking to my ma,” Lucky muttered.“Never,” Runner replied cheerfully. “Helen loves me. Besides, without our weekly kaffeeklatsch I would never know what was going on with you.”
Relationships: Wilbur "Runner" Conley/Robert Leckie
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Heavy Artillery Rare Pair Exchange 2021





	Ademains a la Prochaine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uniformly (scramjets)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scramjets/gifts).



> Happy Rare Pair Exchange, uniformly!

The offices of the Bergen Evening Record were nothing and everything like Runner Conley had always imagined them. Done up in dark wood, with windows everywhere, there was a desk in the corner with the paper’s name painted in crisp, foot-high letters on the wall behind it. The young woman seated at the desk looked up when Runner walked in and trilled, “Good afternoon and welcome to the Bergen Evening Record. Do you have an appointment?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Runner said, removing his hat and strolling toward her with a quick glance toward the glass-front double doors propped open on the opposite wall. Judging by the distant sounds of clacking and the low hum of chatter emanating from therein, they led into the bullpen, which was precisely where Runner wanted to be. “Not exactly,” he continued, sidling up and summoning his most charming smile. He rested a hand against the desktop and leaned in. “I’m looking for a buddy of mine. Bob Leckie. You know him?”

The woman snorted. “‘Course I do,” she chirped in the same bright soprano. “He’s been writing our sports column going on seven years now, give or take a wartime sabbatical.”

Runner laughed and the woman smiled, close-mouthed and clearly pleased that he had appreciated her attempt at humor. “Funny you should mention that,” he said. “Bob and I served together. How Company, 2d Battalion, 1st Marines.” 

“Oh,” the woman said, eyes widening with recognition. “Well, in that case, I suppose I ought to thank you for your service, mister - ” She trailed off, expectant, and Runner grinned.

“Conley,” he said. “Bud Conley, if it matters, though you’re probably better off calling me Runner.”

“Runner,” the woman echoed, arching an eyebrow over her cherry red smirk. “Interesting choice.”

Runner shrugged. “Thank Lu - uh, _Bob_ for that. Think he must’ve given every Marine he came across a silly nickname. Just my luck that mine followed me home.”

“It suits you,” the woman said diplomatically. “Better than your parents saddling you with ‘Mildred’ in any case. Did you want me to call Mr. Leckie up for you?”

“No!” Runner barked, a little too enthusiastically, judging by the way the woman—Mildred, he supposed—startled. “No,” he said again, at a more acceptable volume. “I was hoping to surprise him, actually. See, he didn’t know I was coming.”

“Right,” Mildred nodded slowly, her eyes wide and understanding. She drummed her fingers against the desk for a second, glancing toward the doors, and tightened her jaw as she came to some sort of decision. She pointed to a hallway off to the side and said, quiet and conspiriatorial, “You know, if you take the side door into the bullpen, you can sneak up on him.”

Runner let his grin widen, puckish and playful. “Mildred, I like the way you think.”

“Millie, please,” she said, flushing behind her smile. “If you keep up with Mildred I’ll absolutely expire of embarrassment.”

Millie gave him careful instructions on how to best avoid Lucky’s line of sight on his approach—even going so far as to draw out a small, imperfect map on the back of an envelope—and, sure enough, while he garnered a few confused glances from the other staff writers around the room, Runner managed to get within two feet of Lucky before the other man even noticed he was there. He didn’t look up when Runner’s shadow fell over his desk, just kept plucking away at his typewriter and stealing the occasional glance at a notebook splayed open on the corner, rife with line after line of his sloppy chicken scratch.

“Busy tonight, Martha,” Lucky said, without missing a beat.

Runner snorted. “If that’s how you greet all the ladies, it’s no wonder you don’t have better places to be on a Friday night.”

Lucky went stiff so fast Runner reckoned he could hear the clank and grind as his thoughts came careening to a halt and chugged to life again in another direction. He turned to peer up at Runner, big blue eyes wide with shock, mouth dropped open in a comical ‘O.’

“Runner?” he croaked.

“Hey, Peaches,” Runner grinned.

“Holy - ” Lucky clambered to his feet, smile sprawling wide and delighted across his face. He reached across the corner of the desk to clap a hand to Runner’s shoulder, and then followed it around with the rest of his body and wrapped him in a hug. He was laughing, giddy and breathless, even as he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to come until next week.”

Runner flung his arms around Lucky in turn and murmured into his curls, “Your ma said you were having a rough go of it, so I decided I’d better make the trip early.” He held fast when Lucky tried to squirm away, and the other man grunted and settled into the embrace, fisting his hands in the back of Runner’s jacket and clinging just as tight.

“You gotta stop talking to my ma,” he muttered.

“Never,” Runner replied cheerfully. “Helen loves me. Besides, without our weekly kaffeeklatsch I would never know what was going on with you.”

“Yeah, that’s the ide-YA!” Lucky jumped, the vowel sound at the end of the word veering up into a sharp yelp when Runner pinched him in reprimand.

They let each other go with a couple of awkward back pats, attempting to create some distance despite the inarguably intimate spectacle they’d just put on. Runner wasn’t too worried—as it turned out, the general public was willing to forgive a multitude of sins if you claimed it was a simple expression of combat camaraderie. He leaned his hip against Lucky’s desk while Lucky staggered around to slump back into his seat.

“So,” Runner said, crossing his arms over his chest and flicking Lucky a sly smirk, “who’s Martha?”

Lucky groaned and reached up to scrub a hand over his face. “One of the girls from the typing pool.” He gestured to a collection of desks on the far side of the room, manned by a squadron of pretty women in breezy summer dresses with pristinely painted lips and sleek, glossy pin curls in a riot of colors. “Keeps trying to swindle me into asking her on a date.”

“She pretty?”

“Exceedingly,” Lucky grumbled.

Runner hummed, leaning his weight onto one hand and reaching over to pick up a glass paperweight. “Maybe you oughta let her.”

Lucky snorted and rolled his eyes. He glanced around the room and, apparently satisfied that none of his contemporaries were within earshot, said quietly, “I’m taken.”

“Oh yeah?” Runner asked, tossing the paperweight so it lifted a few inches above his hand. “Since when?”

“Summer of ‘42, best as I can figure.” Leckie leaned forward and snatched the paperweight out of Runner’s hand, letting his touch linger a little longer than was perhaps proper. “Cut that out. You’re gonna break a finger.”

“Wound awful tight for a fella with a sweetheart,” Runner commented.

“Yeah, well,” Lucky drawled, “we haven’t seen each other in awhile.”

“Oh?” Runner frowned, feigning sympathetic interest. “Why’s that?”

Lucky cut him a flat look, mouth tilting up on one side, and said dryly, “National topography.” A little quieter, he added, “Buffalo’s a long way from Hackensack.”

Runner sucked his teeth and narrowed his eyes, thoughtful. “Could always find somebody closer to home.” He leaned in, wagging his eyebrows, and added in a low purr, “I hear Martha from the typing pool is looking to make a match.”

“Jesus,” Lucky hissed, pressing his face into his hand and shaking his head. He was very obviously trying not to laugh. He gave it a second and then leaned back in his seat, craning his neck to peer around Runner at the clock hanging on the far wall. “Ten ‘til five,” he announced, pushing himself back from his desk and standing. He strode around the front and turned in the direction of the double doors Runner had seen earlier. 

“Hey,” Runner scrambled to his feet and fell into step behind him. “Where you going?”

“Gotta tell the chief I’m cutting out early,” Lucky explained, flashing him a hot, fond glance out of the corner of his eye. “This guy I know showed up out of nowhere and he’s a real pain in my ass. Figure I oughta take him to dinner or something. If I don’t keep him busy, I’ll never get a moment’s peace.”

“Sounds like a real drip,” Runner observed. “Maybe you should just cut the guy loose. Make him find his own fun.”

“Nah,” Lucky waved him off, stepping into a short, narrow hallway and coming to a stop in front of yet another door, this one labeled, _‘William F. T. Richten, Editor in Chief,’_ though it was solid wood unlike every other door in the building. “It would be irresponsible of me to unleash him on the general public.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Only to my continued sanity.”

Runner nodded. “In that case,” he said slowly, stepping in just a little closer and reaching out to curl a finger through Lucky’s belt loop, “I think it’s probably safest if you just take him straight home.” He raised an eyebrow and gave the loop a pointed tug.

Lucky grinned, sharp, and turned and rapped his knuckles hard against the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. <3


End file.
